The Other Side of the Night (32 page)

Aspinall turned back to Stone. “Do you mean to tell his Lordship that you did not know that the throwing up of ‘rocket, or shells, throwing stars of any color or description fired one at a time at short intervals’ is the proper method for signaling distress at night?”

“Yes, that is the way it is always done as far as I know.”

“And you knew that perfectly well on the night of the 14th of April?”

“Yes.”

Mersey looked straight at Stone and asked simply, “And is not that exactly what was happening?” Stone made no reply, and Mersey repeated the question: “The very thing was happening that you knew indicated distress?”

“If that steamer had stayed on the same bearing after showing these rockets …”

“No, do not give a long answer of that kind. Is it not the fact that the very thing was happening which you had been taught indicated distress?”

“Yes.”

There it was. Earlier that day Stanley Lord had admitted that the rockets reported by Stone could well have been distress signals, but attempted to absolve himself by blaming Stone for not informing him of such. Stone in turn had attempted to shift the responsibility to Lord, then admitted that the rockets he had seen were indeed a distress signal, according to the Board of Trade regulations. As if to drive the point home, Mersey once more asked Stone, this time admonishing him to have care with his answer.

“Now do think about what you are saying. You have just told me that what you saw from that steamer was exactly what you had been taught to understand were signals of distress. You told me so?”

“Yes.”

With that, what would become known as the “
Californian
incident,” which would evolve into a bitter controversy that would not be settled for more than nine decades, should have ended. Stone admitted that the rockets he saw fulfilled the definition of a distress signal, which he was legally obligated to report to his captain. Stanley Lord admitted that the rockets as reported to him might have been a distress signal, which he was under both a legal and moral obligation to verify, and that he refused to do so. Ultimately, nothing more need ever be said by, for, or against either man, for they had both admitted their culpability.

The testimony of the
Carpathia
’s Captain Arthur Rostron was in some ways a reprise of his appearance before the American inquiry, but there were also some surprises. As did Senator Smith, the Attorney-General and Lord Mersey both offered their thanks to Rostron on behalf of a grateful nation for his prompt and selfless actions in his rescue of the
Titanic
’s survivors.

And just as had happened at the American Inquiry, his innate self-effacing nature, combined with the unquestionable demonstration of seamanship he had shown on the morning of April 15, impressed everyone who heard his testimony.

Much as had been done in New York and Washington, Rostron was asked to recount how the
Carpathia
had received the
Titanic
’s wireless signals and responded, although this time there was a much greater degree of technical questioning. One surprising revelation that came out of this round of questioning was exactly how dangerous were the waters into which Rostron took the
Carpathia
. Once more Rostron told how he had relentlessly pushed his ship, approaching the icefield, dodging icebergs, relying on the sharp eyes of his officers, his own skill as a seaman, and his faith in Divine Intervention.

One curious passage in Rostron’s testimony would subsequently be seized upon by partisans of Stanley Lord in his defense. The attorney representing the Leyland Line, Mr. Bucknill, had Rostron confirm the text of an affidavit Rostron had made in New York a few days earlier. It read, “I approached the position of the
Titanic
41.46 N. L., 50.14 W. L. on a course substantially N. 52 W. (true), reaching the first boat shortly after 4 a.m. It was daylight at about 4.20 a.m. At 5 o’clock it was light enough to see all round the horizon. We then saw two steamships to the northwards, perhaps seven or eight miles distant. Neither of them was the
Californian
. One of them was a four-masted steamer with one funnel, and the other a two-masted steamer with one funnel. I never saw the
Mount Temple
to identify her. The first time that I saw the
Californian
was at about eight o’clock on the morning of 15th April. She was then about five to six miles distant, bearing W.S.W. true, and steaming towards the
Carpathia
. The
Carpathia
was then in substantially the position of the
Titanic
at the time of the disaster as given to us by wireless. I consider the position of the
Titanic
, as given to us by her Officers, to be correct.”

To those who would then and later come to Stanley Lord’s defense, this statement by Rostron that the
Californian
was not one of the ships he saw, and that he only became aware of her that morning when she drew alongside the
Carpathia,
was proof that the
Californian
had been far distant from the site of the sinking. But Rostron himself eventually disabused anyone so inclined to believe that notion, saying, “Dean and others, and some passengers, said they saw the
Californian
and watched her approaching. Well, I was mistaken. I had so much to do I wasn’t thinking of the
Californian
and didn’t recognize her.” And while Lord’s defenders would be quick to seize on Rostron’s distraction and case of mistaken identity (and ignore his subsequent rebuttal), they were equally quick to overlook a line of questions which followed just moments later. Referring to the same affidavit, Sir Rufus asked Rostron, “Does that state all the vessels that you saw? I think it stated two steamers?”

“No; I saw one more, but it was during the night previous to getting out of the
Titanic
’s position. We saw masthead lights quite distinctly of another steamer between us and the
Titanic
. That was about quarter-past three.”

“The masthead lights?”

“Yes, of another steamer, and one of the Officers swore he also saw one of the sidelights.”

“Which one?”

“The port sidelight.”

“Do you know of any identification of that steamer at all?”

“No; we saw nothing but the lights. I did not see the sidelights; I merely saw the masthead lights.”

Here a Mr. Bucknill, an attorney for Harland and Wolff, suddenly leaped up, asking, “May we have the distance and bearing of these lights that he saw, as far as he can remember?” Mersey, annoyed at the interruption, and at the same time apparently having had enough of the
Californian
and Lord, ignored Bucknill and instead asked Rostron, “You did not see the additional lights yourself, the sidelight?”

“I saw the masthead lights.”

“Did you see the lights your Officer spoke of?”

“I saw the masthead lights myself, but not the sidelight.”

“What time was it?”

“About a quarter-past three.”

“And how was the light bearing?”

“About 2 points on the starboard bow.”

“On your starboard bow?”

“On my starboard bow; that would be about N. 30, W. true.”

It was obvious to everyone in the London Scottish Drill Hall what these times, ship’s bearings, and compass directions meant. There was another vessel, within sight of the
Carpathia
, facing to the west, north of where the
Titanic
’s lifeboats waited, but clearly within visual distance of the spot where the
Titanic
sank: it was the
Californian
.

Inadvertantly, Rostron caused new doubts about Stanley Lord’s truthfulness as a witness to surface, which shook Lord’s credibility to its foundations. It was immediately clear to everyone in the court that for the
Californian
’s lights to have been visible to the north of the
Carpathia
when the Cunard ship arrived among the
Titanic
’s lifeboats, the
Californian
would have been visible from the sinking
Titanic
as well. Captain Lord had claimed, and the
Californian
’s logbook apparently bore him out, that his ship’s position put her at least twenty miles, and possibly as much as thirty miles, from the
Titanic
’s last position. Yet now Rostron’s testimony deepened an already growing pall of suspicion not only over Lord but over the logbook as well. These suspicions had already been aroused when it came out in Lord’s earlier testimony that no mention of the ship to the south of the
Californian
, nor any reference to the rockets that ship fired, appeared anywhere in the
Californian
’s log for the whole of the morning of April 15, 1912. They continued to grow when Chief Officer Stewart and Third Officer Groves gave widely differing—and mutually exclusive—explanations for the missing “scrap log.”

As described earlier, in order to prevent errors and omissions, a ship at sea normally kept what was called a “scrap log,” a bound book of blank pages in which a record was kept during each watch of everything that occurs on board relating to the handling of the ship, including any sightings of other vessels as well as visual signals received. The scrap log is kept as a back-up to the final log, and that of the
Californian
, for the morning of April 15, was missing. Chief Officer Stewart claimed that once the entries were made in the formal log, the corresponding pages of the scrap log were then torn out and thrown away, while Third Officer Groves maintained that the entire book would be disposed of, but only when all the pages in it were used. Taken together, the absence of the scrap log, the conflicting explanations, and the inexplicable silence of the log entries for early April 15 raised very grave doubts about the truthfulness of the Californian’s log—and her captain.

Meanwhile, as the succession of revelations was taking place within the London Scottish Drill Hall, another drama was being played out beyond the courtroom. Sylvia Lightoller, the wife of the Titanic’s Second Officer, faithfully attended every session of the Board of Trade Inquiry. To her it was a question of keeping faith with her husband’s colleagues, living and dead. On the eighth day of the inquiry, after they had given testimony, a handful of the
Californian
’s officers, including Groves and Stone, were approached by this petite but formidable lady, and stood near-mute when she reproached them for such a sorry performance of their duties. Abashed, the
Californian
’s officers openly admitted that they had seen signals that night which they fully believed were distress signals, but had not been able to rouse Captain Lord to take any action. More importantly, it became readily apparent that they tried none too hard, for fear of their captain’s temper. The normally feisty Lightoller, who only was beginning to have his own doubts about Stanley Lord’s integrity, attempted to be a peace-maker, taking his wife by the arm and leading her over to Lord himself, nudging her to shake the man’s hand, with the gentle admonition, “My dear, you can’t kick a man when he’s down!”

The truth, as it so often does, finally, gradually, came out. Captain Lord was a virtual tyrant, sharp-tongued and quick with disparaging remarks, and his officers were utterly cowed by him, to the point that they were bereft of any initiative, leaving all decisions to the captain. Stone in particular was vulnerable to this sort of treatment. Despite his apparent air of confidence, he was shy, insecure, and fearful of his job security. Like every one of his contemporaries, he knew there were more qualified officers seeking postings than there were berths available, and a malign word from his captain could well ruin his career, not something that a newly-wed man of 25 wants to contemplate. It was only when the threat of retribution at the hands of Stanley Lord was removed that Stone felt he could tell the truth. The image created in the mind of the public ever since—and rightly so—has been of the
Californian
’s officers standing idly on the bridge, so thoroughly intimidated by their captain that they would rather watch another ship sink than run the risk of facing his wrath. Even Stone, who had been so obviously overawed and intimidated by Lord, finally confessed that he and Gibson did indeed think the rockets they saw were distress signals, but they “couldn’t get the old man out of the chartroom.”

It was on June 30, 1912 that the Board of Trade Inquiry issued its Final Report. Written by Lord Mersey himself, it was detailed sometimes to the point of tediousness, yet no one could deny that the Inquiry had been thorough. He concluded that the loss of the
Titanic
was due solely to the damage caused by the collision with the iceberg and not to any inherent design flaw in the ship, and that collision was the direct result of the ship steaming into an area known to be hazardous with ice at an excessively high speed. There was an insufficient lookout kept, given the danger of the sea conditions, and an overall sense of complacency among the ship’s officers had contributed to this oversight.

The
Titanic
’s lifeboats, while fulfilling the Board of Trade requirements, were insufficient in number, and a change in the regulations was necessary. The boats themselves had been properly lowered but not properly filled, and had been insufficiently manned with trained seamen. Finally, the Board of Trade received a fair amount criticism, despite the earlier misgivings in some quarters that its self-investigation would be a whitewash. In addition to condemning the outdated lifeboat regulations, the Court found the Board of Trade’s required “boat drill” procedures were laughable—usually one or two boats filled with picked crewmen who would go through the motions of rigging and lowering a lifeboat while the ship was in port. Nothing had been done to acquaint the passengers with their boat assignments or any of the life-saving equipment on board. That too would have to change.